Showing posts from September, 2013
there are things you lose, you do not get back. you cannot have them, ever again, except in the smudging carbon copy of memory. there are things that seem irreconcilable that you must find a way to reconcile with. the simple passage of days dulls the sharpness of the pain, but it never wears out: what gets washed away in time, gets washed away, and then you're left with a hard cold nub of something, an unlovable souvenir.

Final Chapter - Bogey Slugs (Lyrics below)

Will you guys do me the biggest favor and listen to this and send some feed backs please? it would really mean the world to me.

here's the lyrics:
My past is waiting to reclaim satan//
Exorcists hating just cos I ain't caucasian//
I ain't racist when I say I'm fresh out of enslavement//
I was found under a bench in Sabah, so fuck being Malaysian//
I'm a problem child, the devil's spawn//
Born ghetto, raised right in Brunei Darussalam//
Police afraid of me cos they think I'm armed//
Never had a mother's love, never knew my mom//
Well at least not face to face, just portraits hung by her grave//
My dad's 83 now, and I still misbehave//
I guess I was placed in this world as a mistake//
My theory is, my real slut mother was raped//
I don't give a fuck, she can suck my hairy nuts//
If I met her, I'd slash her open and sell her fucking guts//
I'm psychologically insane, mentally unstable//
I'm unable to function without meth and a flask o…

Better than ecstasy.

Better than any drugs produced in kitchen or labs.
Better than any pills needed to get you fucked up.
Better than any weed to get you high.
Whatever this is, I like it.
Let's keep it like this.
“Do you ever think about all the people who you might have fallen in love with if only you’d taken a different way home or stood a little longer in the bread aisle at the supermarket? All the people who might have been an integral part of your life but instead you’ll never know them. The unimaginable impact that our mundane choices have on our lives really gets to me. Think of how many times I might have died if I’d made different choices. Maybe I’d be homeless. Maybe I’d be famous. Maybe I’d be rich. Sometimes I’m so overwhelmed by the impact of my choices that I can’t choose anything at all because I’m afraid today will be the day that I make the choice that changes everything.”

In the end.

You'll be okay, you know that?
As hard as it is right now, as horrible as things are and as sad and miserable as you feel, you'll be okay.
You have to be. You gotta be strong.
And it's not the end yet, who knows, if God wills, and cross your fingers He does, your paths will cross again and hopefully stay crossed this time round.

Patagonia, Chile


“I only know how to exist when I am wanted. Girls like us are hardly ever wanted, you know? We’re used up and sad and drunk and perpetually waiting by the phone for someone to pick up and say we did good. Well, you did good.”

— Mary Lambert, I Know Girls
I tried to write a list of things that I wanted to do with you but could not get past the first: 

sometimes when we are kissing I want to lick the freckles clean off your face and even though they don’t taste like cinnamon and only skin I don’t know how to be disappointed with you or the way your forehead feels beneath my mouth, not like a canvas at all but like I’ve pressed myself up against a radiator. And did you know, that the first time I held your hand I couldn’t feel my fingers again for a week straight?Or the first time you said my name it felt like you were touching me even though there was so much space between us. I’m not sure I even know what it means that whenever you hold my hand I can’t remember if the word ’element’ is spelt with an ‘e’ or an ‘a’ and what I’m trying to say is that you make me so goddamn stupid I forget that fall does not always mean in love and love does not always mean you.


would've been the 10th.
I would've woken up grinning.
I would've called you first thing in the morning.
I would've heard your voice.
I would've laughed at something cheesy you said.
I would've.

But I didn't.
I just don’t see the fairness in being able to love someone who is so toxic for you. I just don’t get how our minds would allow us to suffer this much; all for the person who we want the most to tell us that they no longer are able to feel the love for us as they once used to feel.

“We assume others show love the same way we do - and if they don’t, we worry it’s not there.”

“If you find someone who makes you smile, who checks up on you often to see if you’re okay. Who watches out or you and wants the best for you. Who loves and respects you. Don’t let them go. People like that are hard to find”

“Maybe when we die, the first thing we’ll say is, ‘I know this feeling. I was here before.’”

My mother tells me about all the ways I peel fruit wrong.
"It's breaking," she says, pointing to the cracks and fissures where juice is seeping from between my fingers. "If you hold it between your palms too tightly, you'll crush it."
I wish she'd told me sooner because when you left I could not fathom the reason. And then I saw drips on the carpet. The leakage of your heart. And I knew that, like fruit, I had held onto you too hard and you fractured under the pressure.
Do you ever get so bone deep terrified that one day you're going to lose everyone whom you've ever loved? And no amount of rationality or logical thinking can make you stop shivering inside of yourself and sometimes you want to dilute everyone and clutch them to you that way so they can't ever truly be gone.

“Don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.”

There were so many things I wanted to ask you:  how migratory birds knew to go right back to their nests after the thaw, like they’d been called home by something we couldn’t see.  How a caterpillar turns into a butterfly and how the chrysalis works.  Why the pigmentation on leaves turn bright red in the autumn (it wasn’t magic to you, there was always an explanation for everything.)  How a spider can keep threading its web and how glowflies are lit from the inside. 
Where did all the lost things go?  There were so many things I wanted from you, the knowledge that pattered inside of your brain like the baby soft feet of children and how everything would come to you when you asked for it because you saw beauty as well as the science behind it and you were always gold to me.
You are still gold to me and I miss you so.

Don’t ask for guarantees. And don’t look to be saved in any one thing, person, machine, or library. Do your own bit of saving, and if you drown, at least die knowing you were heading for shore.

This is Mayor Stubbs, he is the Mayor of one of the small towns in Alaska.

 ”He doesn’t raise our taxes - we have no sales tax. He doesn’t interfere with business,” said Lauri Stec “He’s honest.” “He’s good, probably the best we’ve had,”


I knew a girl once. Met her at the train station. There was something about her that made me stop, probably it was the way she’d been carving herself open like a pumpkin at All Hallows Eve but without the silly grin. She’d been opening the flap of her heart with a pocket knife, her small rabbits teeth furrowing into her bottom lip. She said 'I want to let more people in' when I asked her why. 'I want my insides to be like Grand Central Station.’ She’d been more real to me than anyone I’d ever known and I can tell you I’d been running late for the  train to Gatswick and I held my coffee in one hand and my impatience and sleep deprivation in the other but I let them fall to the ground so I could sit awhile with her. The pieces of herself on the cement, I admit, irked me a little so I picked them up and put them in my bag. I’ll keep them safe for you, I told her, because you won’t want to stay open for too long.  She’d been busy poking around her inferior vena cava but she stop…
Soft words. “How can I make you miss me?” 
Lip quirk. “It’s probably better not to ask.” 
Eyebrow furrow. “Why?”
Shoulder shrug. “Because nobody wants to rely on somebody’s presence, do they. It’s like painting a cross on your forehead. X marks the spot, don’t you think?”   
Rouge lipstick. “How do you mean?” 
Sullen frown. “It’s like carrying a sign that tells people you’re a mug. That you’re ruled by your emotions. That everything about you is just one pulse of feelings. You could put out an ad in the newspaper. Lonely heart, longs for affection, slow walks in dark forests. All that girly shit, all the stuff that you want that doesn’t exist.”

Nicholas Krauss

My brother and I used to play a game. I’d point to a chair. “THIS IS NOT A CHAIR,” I’d say. Bird would point to the table. “THIS IS NOT A TABLE.” “THIS IS NOT A WALL,” I’d say. “THAT IS NOT A CEILING.” We’d go on like that. “IT IS NOT RAINING OUT.” “MY SHOE IS NOT UNTIED!” Bird would yell. I’d point to my elbow. “THIS IS NOT A SCRAPE.” Bird would lift his knee. “THIS IS ALSO NOT A SCRAPE!” “THAT IS NOT A KETTLE!” “NOT A CUP!” “NOT A SPOON!” “NOT DIRTY DISHES!” We denied whole rooms, years, weathers. Once, at the the peak of our shouting, Bird took a deep breath. At the top of his lungs, he shrieked: “I! HAVE NOT! BEEN! UNHAPPY! MY WHOLE! LIFE!” “But you’re only seven,” I said.”

How wrong it is for a woman to expect the man to build the world she wants, rather than to create it herself.

The Mummy (1999)

“I wrote a poem about it, and then threw it away, because that’s the last thing I need right now: More words dedicated to people who will never dedicate a single thing to me.”


It happens like this. One day you meet someone and for some inexplicable reason, you feel more connected to this stranger than anyone else - closer to them than your closest family. Perhaps this person carries within them an angel - one sent to you for some higher purpose; to teach you an important lesson or to keep you safe during a perilous time. What you must do is truth in them - even if they come hand in hand with pain or suffering - the reason for their presence will become clear in due time.

Though here is a word of warning - you may grow to love this person but remember they are not yours to keep. Their purpose isn't to save you but to show you how to save yourself. And once this is fulfilled; the halo lifts and the angel leaves their body as the person exits your life. They will be a stranger to you once more.

"it's so dark right now, I can't see any light around me."
that's because the light is coming from you. you can't see it but everyone else…
My school sucks balls. I swear to God 99% of the people there makes you want to punch yourself in the face and run yourself over with a tank. And the other 1% basically left for other schools.
They run their mouth like they know shit about you and know everything single fucking detail about your entire life.
I am so glad that 2013 is ending, I cannot wait for 2014 to end.


What I know:

I don’t know anything about love and I don’t claim to. It is only in hindsight that I know I’ve never been in love. Not even close. Not really. I don’t know how to love someone because I really don’t know what that means. I don’t know how to give my whole heart to someone and trust them to take care of it. I don’t know if what I feel for you now is love because I don’t really know what love is. And as a rule, I won’t make grand declarations of love without being certain that is what I feel. People say that you’ll know, that you’ll just feel it. I don’t know how anything as complex as love could be that intuitive. I don’t buy it.

But I am a practical person. I know what I know and, more importantly, I know what I don’t know. I don’t jump to conclusions and I think through things logically. So instead, as with all matters of the heart, I invite self-questioning and introspective thinking to come to a degree of certainty I believe is necessary to say, “I love you.” What I’ve come to are …

Note to self: How to un-love someone who does not love you

1. Constantly repeated reminders.

Every morning, I pull a piece of paper out of a jar that reads:

"This is your daily reminder that she does not like you that way. I am not saying this to depress you or start you off in a bad mood. I am not saying this to be pessimistic or to romanticize your sadness. I am saying this to be realistic and because you have trouble remembering it. I am saying this because it is the truth. I know how painful it is that she feels differently and how much it sucks to hear this. And you deserve better than that pain. You deserve someone who likes you that way back. You deserve to move on. Accept where you two are in life and be grateful for that. You deserve better than the hope of a fantasy."

I then fold it back up and put it back in the jar.

2. Avoid sentimentality and romanticism.

Yesterday, we walked around downtown, and made circles around that bakery where we talked that one time. We danced around the edges of those memories from half a year…
She wanted to be beautiful for him.
So she covered herself up,
and made him believe
that she was someone else entirely.

“I hope you will go out and let stories happen to you”

— Clarissa Pinkola Estés
Don’t blink. Just like that you’re six years old and you take a nap and you wake up and you’re twenty-five and your high school sweetheart becomes your wife. Don’t blink, you just might miss your babies growing like mine did, Turning into moms and dads next thing you know your better half of fifty years is there in bed And you’re praying God takes you instead. Trust me friend a hundred years goes faster than you think, So don’t blink.

doodles of dead people who committed suicide

have you noticed that when someone goes ‘i was bitten by a dog once and now I’m kinda wary around them’ most people are like ‘aw, I understand’ but if a woman says she’s been raped/abused by men in the past and is now scared of them she gets told she’s paranoid and needs to get over it? I noticed that.

(have you noticed that when a dog bites a person, it gets put down. this should apply for rapists and etc too)
You're going to be okay.
As hard it is to believe right now, as much as you hate everything right now, as much as it seems like your life is never going to be alright, you're going to be okay.

You've heard all the cliche quotes. The "you got to get through the rain, if you want to see the rainbow" or "it's darkest before the dawn" and etc etc.
And I know it's annoying, it annoys the hell out of me even. And it's so goddamned cliche.
But you see, cliches are only cliches, because they're true.
Both scientifically and metaphorically, you do need rain to see the rainbow and it is darkest before the dawn.

If life was just one easy, straight, smooth road, then what's the point of it honestly? Where's the challenge?
"A calm sea never made a skillful sailor."
It's tough, I know it is, everyone knows it is. Life is tough. And half the time it sucks donkey balls, but if you don't go through all that bullshit, you would n…
“I know that we said we wouldn’t talk about missing each other but every time I breathe it feels like I’m breathing in rain or the ocean is in my lungs and people leave gaps when they walk away but when you left, it looked like someone had taken a hole punch to my skin because everywhere I looked there were holes spilling water”
Silence is dry; sound is wet. volume is the mass of sound. In silence you can hear people think, but only when their bodies stop making noises.
But who care what people think? The noises their bodies make are more interesting anyway.
Listen to your body. Talk to plants. Ignore people.

- William Boyd, Any Human Heart

"That moment when you realize - quite rationally, quite unemotionally - that the world in the not-so-far-distant future will not contain you: that the trees you planted will continue growing but you will not be there to see them."

“And that’s the thing about people who mean everything they say. They think everyone else does too.”

She wants to travel to Spain, and ride bikes through Barcelona.
She wants to bathe under waterfalls and stick guava leaves in her hair.
Wants to meet boys with voices as smooth as a Spanish guitar, that offer her cigars and bourbon, and laugh as she chokes because they burn her throat like the candles that burned her fingers when mama told her not to get too close.
She wants to kiss and fall in love, just so she can stumble out of its spell, and wake up renewed because she's a woman now, and all women fall out of love, become wise and wonderful like her mama was.
Wants to become a woman with a job, that's pissed because she didn't get that big promotion, so she goes to the boor, and buys the most expensive wine, and meets a man that she takes home with her, and he keeps telling her how good she looks in that dress, the red one with the satin straps, and the Versace dress, that she stumbles upon because she's had a little too much to drink.
She wants to get married to a…

How to get what you want:

1. Know what it is you want.

— Diane Les Becquets

“My heart didn’t break into a thousand pieces after he left. Instead, I realized all the things he didn’t do. He didn’t want to hear my stories. He didn’t ask me questions. He didn’t smile when I was talking to him. He didn’t hug me out of the blue to make me feel good. His hugs were always a preamble to something else, and after he was gone, I wondered if he ever knew me at all.”

THis Life

It is a string instrument
requiring careful affection,
and your fingers may bleed
a little before
you learn a tune
that can carry
an audience's attention.

Every breath should taste like
little victories, love even more so.
If you find somebody
who get your heart beating,
hold onto them
so you won't need
to work even as hard to.

Style is important.
it lets the people know
that you are a success,
mostly when you are not.

And we are nothing if not
Cosmic Creators.

Anyone who has ever
put a shotgun to his mouth
was only trying to
create a final work of art.

Now and then
make love in the mornings
and nap in the noon
eat breakfast food at midnight
because it fucking tastes good.

And we're all just living or dying anyway.
But if you're going it right,
you'll know the difference between the two
and you'll do just fine.


It's awful. This feeling is awful. Waking up in the middle of the night to nightmares of you leaving is horrid. I haven't had a proper sleep since the last time we talked, and even before then.

I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
All of you. Your laughters and witty comebacks and how you always want to win arguments and debates. How I hated it when you win. How you'd coax me into giggling and you'd giggle too. I miss your giggles and your bad jokes. I miss your singing, especially your singing, because you singing to me is a very big deal, especially for you. I miss our fights, our pointless fights, but I hate them and yet I miss them.
I miss my fingers laced with yours, how my head fits perfectly in that space between your head and your shoulder. I miss tracing your face with my fingers and how you'd just look at me the whole time, I miss your fingers on my back, running up and down aimlessly. I miss you. The whole of you.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm…

What to do when people leave:

1. Do not hate them for it. They are on a journey too.
2. Understand that sometimes you will be a bandage caressing a temporary wound or you will be a pinnacle of permanency rooted deeply in their heart. Accept that you do this to people too.
3. Do not step on your feet trying to find a rhythm you are not meant to follow.
4. Do not let it harden you: continue to nurture, continue to love.
5. People use words as anchors to latch onto bits of you and when they leave remind yourself that the sea never bled itself dry because a ship left it.
6. Write the nastiest letter and burn it.
7. Yes, they may have illuminated pieces of you that you were unaware existed. But now you do and they are not the last person to remind you.
8. Dizzy yourself with everything you love, like dancing in the greenhouse to horrid pop songs or reading Haruki Murakami.
9. Set all that anger ablaze, you are wasting your time sifting through it.
10. Internalize the fact that you were still breathing before yo…

January to August memories

Drinking too much coffee. Crying at cinemas. Breaking down. Cinnamon and pots of tea. Falling back in love with words. Meeting new people. Harry Potter. Realising that childhood is as nebulous as every other thing in the world. Reading too many novels. Romance. More romance. Being Nobody’s Girl. The Book Thief. Painting words onto my walls. Sticking roses onto vines. Cold feet and warm hands. Kissing foreheads. Aiman. Eyes getting sadder as the years go along. Friends who stay. Years worth of friendship. People who’ve left. Posting notes onto doors of random strangers. Hitler and the Nazis. Too much revision. Too much caffeine. Dark eyeliner. Talking to the moon. Evolving into melancholy. Rose lipstick and rose flavoured tea. Boy shirts and pink perfume. Ugly sweaters and curling up like kittens. Stacking books into towers. Althea and Alicia and Kiara and Ais. People who’ve changed me. Cutting nails to the quick. Stroking hair and being a cloud of peace. Walking down cracked skies. Ha…

“August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.”



I've spent hours contemplating the words to say to you but no combination of twenty-six different letters could ever accurately capture even a silver of what this feeling is.
when I was little
my mother told me
to look both ways
before I crossed
the street.
and to put my hair
up when I was around
and to lock the door
when I was alone.
So I thought I knew
exactly how to protect
But she never taught me how to
keep from getting hurt by boys like you;
boys who pour pretty
words down my throat
in the middle
of the night and are gone
by the morning.